Killer
by Moira Starsong
Summary: Everything had gone so wrong. He was no longer sure if he was on the right side or not. Nothing was clear anymore. Expect for one thing. He had shot a man, in front of his daughter no less. And he would have blood on his hands for the rest of his life.


**Killer**

A 'Heroes' Fanfic

Rated PG-13 for mature themes

Mohinder's thoughts at the end of "Cautionary Tales"

The three of them rode in silence, hearts heavy with the events of the day. The darkness of the night was falling over the roads, matching Mohinder's mood. He was grateful for the blackness of the sky outside the van. It hid the little team from prying eyes. Hide the actions he had taken.

Even Elle was quiet for once. Her normally flippant attitude was sober. No snarky comment passed her lips. Her blue eyes were blank as she stared at the road stretching out before her, hands clutching the steering wheel for dear life. She looked as miserable as he felt.

Bob reached from his position in the passenger seat to fiddle with the bandage which covered a gunshot wound in his daughter's arm. Uncomfortable with the contact, Elle shook him off and kept her eyes trained on the asphalt. Bob retreated without a word to stare out the window.

Mohinder sat in the back, staring at the company issue gun in his hand. His slender fingers caressed the cold metal, unable to will his mind to another subject. Mohinder had never taken a life before. He knew it had been necessary, to save Bob's life, and possibly Elle's too. But still... He tried, god, he had tried. But Bennet never gave up.

Mohinder wasn't a soldier or an agent, he was a scientist. A scientist was detached, rational. A scientist observed everything around him before forming a hypothesis. Given all the information, all the observations, killing Bennet had been the right thing to do. The only thing he could have done. So why did he feel so horrible?

He had no reason to feel as if he had betrayed Bennet, he told himself. Only hours before he had shot the older man, he had had Mohinder on his knees with a gun in his face. Mohinder had been clutching his throbbing, broken nose as Bennet stood over him and aimed a .45 caliber between the eyes of the Indian man. Mohinder had seen the look in his eyes, full of cold fury. He had been prepared to shot him here in this alley, on his knees, executioner-style. And Mohinder was sure it would have done so, if that boy, West, hadn't interrupted him. Bennett couldn't off him with Claire's boyfriend watching in horror. So why did Mohinder feel so guilty?

_Because you are, _a nasty little voice inside of him said. _You did worst then betray him. You were going to take down the Company together! Do you really think they'll give you Molly back when she gets better? Do you really think she can ever be safe with them out there? You betrayed your own principals. You bought into the Company's indoctrination, you flipped and went after his daughter. How did you expect him to respond?_

"No," Mohinder whispered aloud. This had been about saving Niki from a long, slow death.

Mohinder wasn't sure if he really believed that anymore. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. He didn't know what was right and what was wrong, who to trust and who to fear. His thoughts drifted back to a year ago, to a time when he had been prepared to take a human life. If you could call Sylar human, he thought wryly.

There had been no gray in the the picture then. Sylar was an unrepentant serial killer, a monster who sawed off the top of the skulls of his victims. Mohinder had been fueled by righteous rage, and not only for the many people Sylar had slaughtered, which included Mohinder's own father. Sylar had played Mohinder for a fool, taking the identity of one of his victims and riding beside Mohinder for several days. He had led the murderer right to his next victims. Oh yes, things had been so clear back then. It had been obvious who the monster was, and who was the agent of justice. Mohinder wondered if killing Bennett would have been easier if he had succeeded in this attempt to put Sylar down. If his first kill had not been so fraught with ethical issues. If his first kill had not been someone he had thought of as a friend.

His inner voice laughed at him._ You're just like him now_, it whispered in his ear. _Thinking about what would make killing a friend easier, hah! Justify it all you like, you know it's true. You're a killer. There's no difference between you and Sylar now! _

Mohinder shook his head in an attempt to silence the voice. He looked over towards the double doors at the back of the van. His eyes fell on the body-shaped bundle wrapped in a blue trap. Mohinder was aware that they were going to attempt to revive him using the miraculous properties of his own daughter's blood. There was a good chance it might work. Then again, it might not.

Mohinder's gaze returned to the gun in his hand. He it turned over, examining it from all sides, as if it could tell him something new, divulge some secret that would ease his pain. Mohinder knew in his heart that it didn't matter if it did work. Even if they managed to bring Noah Bennett back to life, it didn't change what he had done.

Everything had gone so wrong. He was no longer sure if he was on the right side or not. Nothing was clear anymore. Expect for one thing. He had shot a man, in front of his daughter, and he would have blood on his hands for the rest of his life.


End file.
